


New Tricks

by Patchouli (lifelesslyndsey)



Series: How To Teach An Old Dog New Tricks [19]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Darcy POV, F/M, How To Teach An Old Dog New Tricks verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-04-22 11:04:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14307288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifelesslyndsey/pseuds/Patchouli
Summary: It’s been sixteen hours since Tony went missing and Darcy still doesn’t have a fucking hair tie. She runs a company worth thirteen percent of the worlds fortune, directs a secret society of highly-trained, highly-intelligent operatives scalped from some of the seediest, scariest and most dangerous organizations across the globe, has bed double-digit numbers of superheroes and she cannot find a single fucking hair tie.ON HIATUS(i'm having a hard time getting into Darcy-Voice for this fic. To much bleed over from Temple Heart and Darcy Does. We'll get there!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chimmychanga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chimmychanga/gifts).



> Retroactively gifted this to Chimmychanga who bookmarked every single part of the Old Dogs series before almost anyone else, but never ever commented. I see you creepin. And I love you.

It’s been sixteen hours since Tony went missing and Darcy still doesn’t have a fucking hair tie. She runs a company worth thirteen percent of the world's fortune, directs a secret society of highly-trained, highly-intelligent operatives scalped from some of the seediest, scariest and most dangerous organizations across the globe, has bed double-digit numbers of superheroes and she _cannot_ find a single fucking hair tie. She has four-thousand dollars at the bottom of this fucking bag - in cash - but not a goddamn hair tie.  It makes no goddamn sense.

 

“Agent Williams,” Darcy snaps her fingers at the young man nearest to her. “Current mission parameters?”

 

“Sentry,” Agent Williams explains, with not quite enough surety in his voice. His first name is _Kit_ and he’s about as American as bubblegum and blow jobs, would have made one hell of a ballplayer if he hadn’t accidentally identified Bruce in a lineup after the whole Brooklyn Thing. He’s another case of wrong-place-wrong-time though Darcy’s come to learn there might not be a right time to be in Brooklyn, actually.  The whole place is a wash. Throw it away.

 

Darcy looks around the room.  Jarvis had to break a number of his own codes - something to be concerned about later - to get Darcy into the Malibu house.  A spacious, cliffside manor mostly made of glass, it looked like an earthquakes wet dream but could sustain a twelve on the Richter scale _and_ the really big rock Darcy threw at the window in a fit of rage.

 

“Scrap it, find me a hair tie.” She waves her hand and returns to the holo screens.  It’s maps. It’s maps spread far and wide, clear over the continental US, most of Europe and a bit of South America.  Little rippling blips of green spread here and there, where the bio scans are picking up familiar lines, but none the one she wants. Agent Williams doesn’t move. “Hair tie. Now.”

 

“I----Agent Coulson,” Williams stammers, never one to disrespect an order. “We’re supposed to be----”

 

“Guarding me, yeah. Look - Phil gets a little overzealous when it comes to me, okay? I don’t need _six_ guards. I have Jarvis.” The other Agents, peppered in the corners, exits and windows of the room, all shift awkwardly. “Phil is _not_ my superior and this is _not_ his op. It’s mine. Now find me a fucking hair tie. And whiskey.  Anything old enough to be my father will do. Now go.”

 

He does, earning looks from the other sentry.  Darcy sighs. “Jarvis, buddy, patch in the Wakanda codes.  Get me Shuri on the screens.”

 

***

  


_They sit outside, on the patio, the smell of coffee and autumn fighting for the spotlight.  She hates the sense of nostalgia that floods her veins when she’s back in town. She doesn’t miss it, not hardly, but for all that she hated her hazy high school days - things were easier.  Anxiety has a new face in her twenties. But Darcy isn’t thinking about that. She isn’t thinking about anything but how the air feels on her skin, how Tony’s beard is inexplicably neat and trimmed even though she’d been sitting on it not even seven hours prior.  She’s thinking about how she can’t wait to go home. How home is New York now, a penthouse and a person._

 

“What did you get?”  Darcy eyes Tony’s icy cup across the table, tongue smarting from the first sip of her own latte. Something healthy, probably.  Something with almond milk and no sugar. Brewed by reverse osmosis and science and fancy imported bottled water because Tony doesn’t trust a water plant he doesn’t _own_ and filter himself. Darcy leans forward, stretching across the table to dip her finger over the rim. It’s a habit ingrained in her by Phil, but this time---as many others ---she hadn’t meant anything more than to bother Tony.

 

He slaps at her hand, but it’s weak effort, and Darcy let’s the deep brown droplet slide down her finger to pool in her palm while he gripes. He hates it when she does this, and so she’ll never stop.

 

“You can put your tongue in my ass,” she mocks him because boy can he. “But this is gross to you? I know you---”  The coffee is cooling against her skin, and she raises her hand to lick it away when reality kicks her teeth in. “Baby,” she tries for calm, tries for sweet and it sounds wrong on her tongue, and probably wrong on his ears. The deep mauve polish of her right index fingers bleeds out like a blue-black bruise.  Some kind of synthetic opiate maybe, something heavy. Tony’s blinking at her, already heavy-lidded, brow scrunched. There isn’t enough time to explain, there never really is. But she can tell him what he’ll need to know later. She can tell him enough. “Whatever happens - I’ll get you back, okay?”

 

She tells him she loves him.  He says it back like she didn’t already know.

***

 

Shuri, Darcy thinks, is a fucking _goddess_. A baby goddess, at the tender age of sixteen, but Darcy won’t deny her little girl crush. Jarvis patches Shuri in,  and Darcy lets herself feel relieved as her face, dark skin and bright eyes, settles on the hollo screen. Shuri is grinning; Shuri is always grinning like she knows something the rest of the world doesn’t, she’s grinning because it’s true.

 

Darcy lets a little inkling of confidence build up within her, from Shuri’s grinning face.  “Whattaya got for me, cupcake?”

 

Shuri winks at the nickname, fingers flying over her keyboard with the kind of grace Darcy’s only ever seen from Pepper. “It took me a while, but I’ve managed to whip something up to track bioscan pulse beats.  Bioscanners run on their own wave, usually separate from other lock technology - you know, thumb or retinal scans, heat signatures, things like that. The DNA scanners use an intense, subversive type of radial pulses on a magnetic frequency, a little like an MRI or CT scanner. Ruling out hospitals, I’ve managed to pick up a fairly large number of possible radial pulses on the right vibration.  It’s a start.”

 

“It’s a long way from the nothing we’ve got right now. I’ve got a program for a flood breech,” Darcy offers, patching the code in on the left screen, and sending it to Shuri. “What do you need to find Tony?”

 

Shuri eyes Darcy’s code, but they both know there are no bugs in the line.  Darcy’s not good at a whole lot, but this? This she can do. “Ideally? Direct DNA.”

 

Darcy leans back in her chair and sighs deep from her belly. “Yeah - I thought that might be the case.”  Any DNA they might find on a scatter search - hair or spit or skin cells - would be in New York or even Wisconsin.  “Alternatives?”

 

“The system can cross reference through a near relative. Parent or sibling but with less accuracy.” Shuri makes an apologetic face. It’s not a secret that Tony has neither. “I’m sorry Darcy.”

 

“You and me both.” It’s another dead end in a sixteen-hour line of dead ends, and Darcy feels her blood pressure rise, even as her heart drops.

 

Shuri makes a noise in the back of her throat and licks her lips. “Any chance you and Tony were....er. Together. Recently?”

 

“Not in the last sixteen hours, thirty-seven min---oh. _Oh_.” Darcy stares at her for a long moment. “You think that would work?”

 

“Spermatozoa cells have been known to thrive for up to three days inside the vaginal cavity.” Shuri shrugs. “After that, they begin to break down. But I’d say chances are good within forty-eight hours.”

 

That it’s been less than forty-eight hours since Darcy last had Tony inside her seems strange, from where she’s sitting, in his Malibu House full of Agents and very little hope, but a cunt full of half-fresh spunk. “Give me a minute. I’ll see what I can do.”

 

She doesn’t find anything so pedestrian as zip-lock bags in the kitchen, but she does find fancy glass jars with airtight metal lids she’s seen Tony drink his nasty seaweed soda out of.  She snags one and heads for the bathroom. Another Agent follows her - she doesn’t know this one's name, and she doesn’t really care. She’s tired and the clock is ticking and the only lead she’s got is between her legs, _surprise_!  “I’m going into this bathroom to dig day old come out of my cunt in an effort to find my boyfriend with entirely untested and probably unreliable technology developed in the last four hours. I really don’t need my hand held for it.” Startled, and blushing, the Agent says nothing but falls back to his shadows where he belongs.

 

The bathroom lights hum to optimal brightness as she enters the room, lighting cool grey walls with slanting beams of white.  It looks like their bathroom in the lab, with the big waterfall shower head and heated stone tiles. Darcy riffles through her bag for a tampon and wonders what they’re doing to him, wherever they have him. Wonders if he’s okay.

 

He’s not.

 

She drops the tampon into the glass jar and caps it with shaking hands. She has no idea if it’ll work. She has no idea if any of this will work.  Washing her hands, she takes a minute to breathe, and stare at her reflection in the spotless mirror. Her jaw is a wash of purple and blue, a supernova starburst bruise from her escape in Wisconsin.  She pushes at it gently, and then not so gently, grounding herself in the pain.

 

Tapping the com on the neckline of her shirt, Darcy steel herself. Now is not the time to fall apart. “What’s the ETA on Dr. Sexy? I need a DNA extraction.”

 

***

 

Bruce doesn’t ask, when Darcy pushes the jar into his hands, immediately. “We need Tony’s DNA to run through the flood breach on the bio-scanners.” She smiles blandly, letting Bruce cross through the doors. “Lucky for us, I’m usually carrying a little with me.”

 

Bruce doesn’t say anything, actually, having only just stepped through the door.  He does set the jar down on the desk in the Malibu lab, and crush Darcy into a shaking, fierce hug.  She falls into it. She’s weak. She’s weak and she’s tired and Bruce is comfortable and known and not mad at her for losing Tony. “Honey,” he says, the way he only ever said when they were alone. “How are you holding up?”

 

“I’m like six clicks from unhinged,” Darcy admits because it’s Bruce and you can’t lie to Bruce. He has fluffy hair. This is why their relationship was doomed from the start. “But we have a potential lead.”

 

Bruce picks up the jar again. “I’ll get to work.”

***

 

The DNA extraction works.  Apparently Tony’s packs a punch in the little swimmer department.  There’s a certain sense of irony that Darcy is barren and Tony’s extra fertile. It’s---whatever. Darcy likes balance.

 

They port his DNA sequences into Shuri’s program and watch the maps bleed across the hollo screens as Darcy’s flood breeches worm their way into every BioScan across the seven continents. “Remarkable work,” Bruce hums, squinting at the lines of code as they race across the far left screen, flickering and morphing as Jarvis monitors for bugs, and delays.

 

Darcy shoots him a finger gun and a wink, too tired to muster up any real enthusiasm at his praise. She taps her com. “Yo! Where’s my fucking hair tie?”

 

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy eyes the map critically, hands balled at her fist. She knows more about SHIELD than any single person. Not Nick Fury. Not Phil. Her - Darcy Lewis, previous worm. It’s all in her head, a tangled mess of facts and files she’s never wanted to make sense of. “

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> possible trigger - a situation where Darcy appears to have been taken advantage of, but isn't in anyway, and it's simply a situation she is using to her advantage.

There are thousands of SHIELD bases, many of which Darcy has keyed into a map, details pulled straight out of her ass. To the surprise of no one, Tony isn’t at any of them.  Wherever they kept him - they didn’t move him. A holding cell probably, absolutely underground. It’s two days before their program pings a single thing, and the DNA is tangled in someone else’s.  

 

“Someone left the room with Tony’s DNA on them,” Shuri suggests, and Darcy appreciates her use of DNA instead of blood, but she knows the truth.  Tony’s DNA sequence is practically filed as a fucking footnote, in the mainframes bioscanner logs, and no one would have seen it if they weren’t scanning exactly for it.  “In...Rutherford County, Tennessee.” It isn’t so precise that they can narrow it down to a single space. Magnetic waves shake and shimmy; what they got is a thousand square miles, and a population edging it’s way to 300,000. Not good.  However, it’s almost a straight shot from where they took him in Wisconsin, following a single interstate for a solid ten hours. 

 

“Something with underground levels,” Dary suggests. “Most their bases are, the fucking worms.  Underground, with entry-level supporting decent traffic. Lots of comings and goings, that won’t be questioned.  Space for a helipad, probably. And not a lot of civilian traffic - not anywhere they’d hold prisoners.” 

 

“Most helpful, Director Lewis,” Jarvis chimes, and the screens shift and change, maps materializing around them.  Several locations make themselves known with glowing purple stars. 

 

Darcy eyes the map critically, hands balled into her fist. She knows more about SHIELD than any single person.  Not Nick Fury. Not Phil. Her - Darcy Lewis, previous worm. It’s all in her head, a tangled mess of facts and files she’s never wanted to make sense of. “Nix anything made in the last thirty years,” she suggests.  SHIELD like pre-standing buildings, derelict and cheap. Ugly, unremarkable buildings, that make people say ‘someone finally bought that piece of shit?’ and nothing else. “Remove anything within ten miles of a hospital, alternate military bases, or airport.”  Much of SHIELD’s technology - especially tech used to keep them hidden - scrambled other radio waves. 

 

What’s left is an abandoned elementary school, recently purchased and turned into a lumber mill of all fucking things. Darcy doesn’t immediately nix it, though it’s unlikely that SHIELD would use an over that requires actual work. “Bring up the next one,” she mutters, but Jarvis hears her, zooming in on the map to the second purple ring, a water treatment plant on the spacious lot, with a limited point of exit and entry.  “Pull up energy specs for the last two years.” Jarvis complies, and Rutherford Power and Lighting scroll up across the screen. It means jack shit to Darcy; she doesn’t know how much energy a water plant fucking uses. Tony would, probably. She grits her teeth. “Cross them with a comparable county water supply usage.” 

 

“Energy usage for Ruthford Water Treatment and Supply, versus energy usage for Woodbury Municipal Treatment Plant,” Jarvis reads, as the stats flicker across the screen. “Usage is comparable, Director Lewis. Reports indicate the water treatment center was re-opened with recent population bursts.”

 

“What’s the third one?”  The third point on the map is located just west of where the interstates merge and loop. 

 

“Research indicates it was previously used as overflow military barrack and consists of the main service hall, and three outbuildings on several acres of fenced land.  Most recent blueprints show the main service hall has at least five subfloors. Purchased three years prior, and converted to nondescript business offices. While entry is gated, access points are within one mile of interstates twenty-four, and eight-forty.” 

 

It fits. It would make for an optimal base, matches all of SHIELD’s general criteria.  Too well, really. Darcy...isn’t sure. They can’t pick wrong. They pick wrong, and Darcy will never find Tony.  “Get me air-traffic control logs,” she pushes. “For all three locations. Traffic and toll cams. Any vehicle traveling the I-41 beginning in Fon Du Lac, ending near Rutherford within fifteen hours of each other.”

 

“Very good, Director Lewis. Camera feed will take some time,” Jarvis cautions, but Darcy can already camera feeds popping up on the screens, before blacking themselves out again. “Calculating estimated traffic, delays logged accidents and more, readings could take up to twenty-six hours.” 

 

Not good enough, Darcy wants to protest, but she bites her tongue. Jarvis is the best, and if that’s the best--- Darcy can’t risk anything less for Tony. “Hit me up when you got something.” 

 

Shuri appears from behind a screen. “I’ll see what else I can discover in the locations,” she offers, eyes already for her screen. 

 

Darcy had intended to do just that and hesitates.  But Shuri is good, and more importantly, Shuri is _smart_.  Far and beyond, smarter than Darcy.  “We need the estimated occupancy of every building.  What kind of evac time we’d be looking at. I need covert entry point big enough to sustain a team, and short of that - a viable distraction to give us time to get in. If you can get me reads on what kind of surveillance they use, I’ll love you forever.” 

 

Shuri grins. Shuri is always grinning. “Consider it done.” 

 

_ *** lill flashback scene*** _

 

They’d made Darcy watch as they’d thrown Tony’s unconscious body into a van.  If it were Natasha or even Clint - they wouldn’t have stood a chance. Even five against one, they wouldn’t have stood a fucking chance.  But Darcy is no Baby Badass. She’s got a gun, yeah, and a brain, but she doesn’t have the brawn to back either up. So they’d made her watch, as they tossed him in the van, hands zip-tied awkwardly behind his back, in an alley behind the abandoned K-Mart.  With a gun pressed to the small of her back, they walked her down, to a waiting car. Just a car - bulletproof, yes - but just a car. Beside it are four more identical cars, and two vans that look just like Tony’s - no chance to follow a trail on traffic cam, then.  Darcy slid into the back seat and found a man she’d never seen before, waiting. 

 

“Agent Lewis,” he intoned, with a voice like gravel. “So good to finally meet you.” He holds up a syringe, milky white liquid sloshing inside and Darcy can only hope they’re not sticking her with some kind of back-water Serum. Probably not. She’s hard to control as is. 

 

“Director.” Darcy hazards a guess.  One step above Nick Fury, one step below the Board of Powerful Assholes.  She holds her hand out. “Shall I do the honors, or you?” 

 

“Should I expect you to take the opportunity to stab me with my own sedatives?” He smiles but holds the syringe out anyway.   Darcy lets the pointed tips of her nails scrape against his palm gently, just to watch his eyes widen ever so slightly. 

  
  


She tips the syringe point-up in the shaft of light struggling to pour through the thick windows, and flicks the glass, dispersing bubbles. “I’m not exactly capable of overpowering you, Director,” she tells him, mildly, dispersing just a drop of the liquid onto her pinky nail.  The polish - a gift from Natasha - turns a pale, baby blue. “Good ole’ fashion opiates? Shit, I might enjoy this. I haven’t sprung for the good stuff in a while. Too busy running globally accredited companies bent on bettering the world. It’s time-consuming work.” 

 

The Director doesn’t smile, but his hands are balled into fists at his side. “I don’t believe you’re incapable of anything. Not anymore.” 

 

Darcy extends her arm out, elbow pressed into her knee.  Her skin is pale, as it always is, veins high against the surface.  She taps them with two fingers, before repositioning the needle in her hand, and pressing the point to her skin.  It slides in, easy as pie, while the director watches, and she drops the plunger with the prettiest smile on her face. “You’re too kind.” 

 

“Your compliance is appreciated.” The Director holds up his phone, tapping the screen so it comes to bright, brilliant life.  Darcy forces her face to something on the smug side of impassive, as Tony’s face fills the video. “At least - I’m sure Mr. Stark appreciates it.” 

 

So that’s how this goes.  She comes quietly - Tony goes free.  Not hardly. Darcy knows better. They’ll tie them both up in the same room and play them off each other and Darcy will cave, because Darcy is weak.  She allows herself a smile, wide enough to show the gap in her teeth. “Cute.” 

 

Wordlessly, the Director leans forward and plucks Darcy’s phone from the cuff of her pants where she’d stowed it in the restaurant.  He holds it out, and Darcy dutifully presses her thumb into the communications link. 

 

“Which one is Agent Coulson,” he asks her, tilting the phone and looking down his nose like any far-sighted fuck does. 

 

Darcy leans back in the seat, only bothering to watch the Director at the side of her eyes.  She can feel the opium seeping into her blood, a slow roll rush that takes her from the bottom up. She’s familiar with it - has actively enjoyed it, though perhaps not recently. “Snowball,” she tells him, lazily. “Don’t judge. We all have our kinks.” 

 

He looks at her from over her phone. “Captain America?” 

 

“Spanky,” she says, throwing him a wink.  Her words pour from her mouth like syrup and she allows herself a moment or two to bask in the molasses high. “Two guesses on who's spanking who.” With a heavy sigh, she forces herself to sit up again. “I suppose you’ll be wanting the others? You know - if you did any kind of decent intel, you’d be able to figure out who they were all on your own.” 

 

“I should know who Tantric Daddy is?” He asks her mildly, and Darcy snorts.  That’s Bruce. Bruce could go for fucking hours. She’s not giving him Bruce’s number. “Double Shot Espresso?” 

 

Clint was always down for a fast fuck, anywhere - and he always made her come twice. “Barton. Think you can guess Nat’s?” She grins like a shark - all her teeth and dimples. “I’ll give you a hint, it also includes the word Double----” 

 

“Director Fury,” he cuts her off, raising a brow. “Which one is he?” 

 

“Hate Sex,  _ obviously _ .” In truth - she and Nick never fucked.  They’d come close enough, time and again, and Darcy had always sort of suspected it would happen one day - but then Tony happened and as indulgent as Tony Stark is of her sluttier ways, she could never bring herself to betray him by fucking someone she could actually love.  Clint - yeah. They were  _ friends _ . Phil, yeah - they were partners.  Nick---was different. “That all?” 

 

“That will do, for now,” the Director decides, turning her phone to snap a picture of her sleepy, slack face where she’s slumped in the seat again. “We’re nearly to the first checkpoint.” 

 

“Oh?”  Darcy pours all the energy into her hands, forces them to move, to ruck up her shirt high on her belly, high on her tits.  The car rolls to a stop and she laughs, as she thumbs open the button on her jeans, and wriggles them down. 

 

“What---Agent Lewis,” the Director snaps, but he doesn’t move to touch her. “What are you doing?” 

 

“Discrediting your authority,” she tells him honestly, shoving her panties to her knees.  She’s got a hickey on her thigh old enough to pass for a bruise, and she’s still a little red, and wet from Tony going down on her for a solid hour before fucking her only this morning. She toes off a boot, as the car locks disengage. “They’re gonna think you took advantage of me, Director. How embarrassing for you.” 

 

As she expected him too - she rushes forward to pull her shirt down, even as the doors open and Darcy makes herself cry.  Natasha --- Natasha had taught her that the first line of defense when you had nothing at all was  _ a pity _ .  And nothing was more easily pitied than a weak, crying girl.  She lets her eyes flutter closed, and her chest heave on silent sobs. 

 

“She’s faking,” the Director snaps, over the scuff and scuttle of Agents outside the car. “This isn’t---she did this. She did this.” 

 

“Affirmative, Director Crane,” some nameless Agent says, but even Darcy can hear the lack of belief in his voice, through her cloudy haze.  “If you would step out of the car - we’ll assist Agent Lewis to the next transport.” 

 

Director Crane clears his throat. “Yes---Yes. Very well.” 

Gentle hands - easy hands - pull at her jeans.  Darcy swats at them loosely, grasping at her panties first. “S----s---sorry,” she trembles.”He didn’t---- He didn’t---He just---and I couldn’t---” 

  
  


Fingers hesitate against her skin, but then she feels her panties pulled up first, one hand tucked under her hip, pulling her up. And then her jeans.  Farther - outside - there’s quite, furious murmurs. Agents aren’t robots. They’re people. People who had lived, before they had this life. People who had dreams, before they saw too much.  They have sympathy, empathy, feelings, and concerns. Darcy’s playing it all. They carry her out of transport with soft, careful touches, and Darcy’s got the needle, broken off from the syringe tucked into the curl of her palm. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people were confused by the Current Time Jump and the flash backy jump, so I made it a little clearer. Just leading up to saving Tony, and then we get to go all the way to the begining.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved Shuri so much in Black Panther, I can't let her go.

When Jarvis finishes with the traffic cams, it comes down to the water treatment and the military base equally. There aren’t enough cameras in Rutherford to follow the cars right to the respective parking lots, but they’re certain none of headed for the lumber mill, opposite side of the highway. Darcy drums her fingers on the desktop and eyes the specs displayed on the holoscreen. “Whatta ya think, Jay?”

 

Jarvis comes to life around her. She doesn’t think people fully comprehend the miracle that is Jarvis. He is all but a God, in the right places; a sentient, disembodied source of all things great and small, an eye in the sky, who sees all and never forgets. Darcy comprehends.

 

“Cross-referencing with data provided on previous and current SHIELD bases, it is likely the base is operating out of the Water Treatment Plant. That said, additional readings show duplicate subsonic registrars, similar to those found from the plant - very similar. I’ve taken the liberty to scan parallel water treatment plants and abandon bases for equal measurements and found that they are unique.”

 

Darcy stares at the ceiling for a long moment, the holographic image of Shuri shifting and shimmering across the room. She lets Jarvis’s new information roll and rattle in her brain..“The military base is a dupe? A decoy?”

 

“Cross-reference of both locations show few links,” Shuri offers, throwing up the information on Darcy’s screen. “The realtor is the same. Not surprising, given the proximity of the locations. However, they were purchased within three days of each other. The water plant saw repairs and operations a full year prior. The military base is considered ‘under renovations’.”

 

“Hold up,” Darcy leans forward suddenly, hand flying to highlight a single name. “JP Barley?”

 

“The mortgage company I believe,” Shuri frowns, eyeing the screen. “They’re tied in with the financing for both locations. Not unusual for places sold by the same realtor. Could be in-house financing, or an incentive-based broker they push.”

  
  
“Except that I’ve seen that name before. It’s a dummy broker. An alias for bank accounts. Shield pays for everything with cash, but that’s sketchy. They have a number of false mortgage brokers for exactly this and I know I’ve seen JP Barely in the files.” It isn't much, but it’s enough for Darcy. A plan begins to form, careful and tentative. “How far between the two?”

 

“Four point seven miles directly,” Jarvis offers. “Six points two by established road.”

 

Darcy pushes up from the chair. Her body aches and her heart has been lodged in her throat for days. This is it. It’s time to make the call. “Get my team together.”It’s her call to make. This is her operation. Darcy is Director Lewis. She picks up the small, palm-sized box Shuri had sent her. “It’s time to suit up.”

  
***flash back them kidnapping Darcy scene***

 

She weaves the needle into the inside waist of her pants at the small of her back with lax, weak fingers while they cart her off to the next car. She doesn't need it yet. Not yet. But soon. The opiates sing in her blood, whale-song slow, like mourning. Darcy can feel the implant in the back of her skull activate, a rush of white-heat Adrenalin cresting over her, all tsunami waves and hurricane wind. It’s new technology - nothing SHIELD has their fingers in. Natasha doesn't have one - doesn’t need one. But Clint and Darcy do. It activated Adrenalin responses when certain chemical imbalances were registered in the bloodstream; toxins, narcotics, sedation, and even alcohol poisoning, working to restore balance in the body. She forced herself to remain lax, slumping over in the car seat, even as her brain systems checked back online. The car ride is short, and they barely stop at all to unload her, car speeding off before she gets her bearings under the hold of two meaty Agents.

 

They handcuff her where she stands, with police-standard cuffs, and it strikes her as curious, as they load her into a helicopter. Not a quinjet, but a standard-issue helicopter. “Oooh,” she drawls, careful to keep her speech slurred and slow. It’s easy, really, as her brain hasn’t finished assigning chemical pulses. “Did Daddy cut your funding? Or is this Op just not sanctioned?”

 

Meaty Agent One grunts, and throws her bodily up into the helicopter. Darcy’s knees hit the floor hard, and she can’t stop herself from falling forward, face slamming into the unforgiving plastic bench seating. It smarts but doesn't hurt, too much adrenaline spilling into her brain. She laughs and manages to roll over on her back. She braces her knees on the floor and spreads her legs, knows it must look lewd, with her shirt riding up high to expose her pale belly, and her pants still undone from her previous stunt. “Mmm. I do I like a man who can toss me around a little.”

 

“Drop her like that again, and it’ll be your ass,” Meaty Agent Two cautions. “You know the orders.”

 

Meaty Agent One sneers, hauling Darcy up and slamming her onto the bench. Her buckles her in with very generous hands, and Darcy blows him a kiss.

 

Agents One and Two seat themselves for take off, and Darcy feels, more than she sees, the ground leave her behind. She lets herself slink down in the seat, head hanging low as they reach high enough altitudes to make her ears pop a little. With her hands cuffed behind her back, it’s easy to wiggle the needle-free, and clasp it between two fingers. Wind screams, throwing her hair in wild disarray through the open door, covering the click and scratch as she struggles to catch the tumbler of the cuffs. She is proficient in getting out of handcuffs, proficient but not fast.

  
They’re thirty-thousand feet when the lock clicks, and the cuffs pop open. She rolls her shoulders and weaves the needle back into the waist of her pants - as a precaution.

 

Christ. Okay. So she’s uncuffed. She’s uncuffed at thirty-thousand feet in the air, with two men far larger than her. What the fuck would Natasha Romanov do? She’d break it down like this; her, or them, and then she wouldn’t hesitate to kick their ass. Kick both their asses ballet-style, right out the side of the copter probably, but Darcy isn’t proficient in close-combat or ballet, actually. Maybe one-on-one, if the ultimate objective is to run away and you don’t earn points for style. Not two on two, in a flying box of death. Right. So. What Natasha Romanov would do doesn’t help her.

 

What would Darcy Lewis do, she asks herself.

 

Nothing so graceful as ballet ass-kicking, to be sure.

 

She falls on the floor and twitches. Violently, and at length, letting spit and drool fly from her mouth. She keeps her hands tucked behind her back, clutching the cuffs.

 

“----she must be reacting to the sedatives,” one of the Agents grunts, throwing himself out of the seat, to kneel by her. His hands grasp at her pulse - which is stupid, she’s clearly fucking breathing - and Darcy uses his moment of panic to slam the metal curve of the cuff right into the side of his head.

 

He grunts, knocking sideways onto his knees, and she hits him again, in the bridge of the nose, with the cuffs. It crunches satisfactorily, blood gushing in a quick, torrential rush. He grapples for the gun anchored to his waist, but Darcy’s faster, getting it in both hands and aiming dead on. “Uh-huh,” she says, tilting her shoulder to the parachute packs clipped near the door. “Bail-out or I blow your head off.” There’s a gun pointed at her head now too - the other Agent, with Autopilot engaged. He’s twisted in his chair, still strapped in.

 

“She ain’t gonna shoot me, Reese.” The words spill out through a bloody mouth, and Darcy---Darcy maybe should hesitate more than she does. She should think, more than she does. But she doesn't. She puts a bullet into him, right in his face. Blood rains down like confetti parade, and Darcy’s fucking numb when she turns to the pilot and stares down his gun, raising her own in question.

 

“You kill me now, they kill you later.” She suspects the orders are to take her in alive. She has information, after all, that they want. “But if you don’t kill me - I shoot you, or you jump. Those are your options. How’s your day ending, Agent?”

 

“He your first kill?” He asks, tilting his head. His face is as impassive as Darcy feels, and she wonders if that’s a good or bad thing.

 

“Yes.” It is. Darcy’s hurt people before, yes, but she’s never ended a life. She can’t think on it right now. Her or them, after all.

 

“You’re a cold one, Lewis,” the Agent nods to himself. “Can you fly a copter?”

 

Not at all, actually. But she flew a jet once, and it’s probably the same concept. Maybe. If not - she knows how to jump out of one. “I’ll figure it out.”

 

“I could fly you.” He lowers his gun, makes a show of sliding the safety over. Darcy does not do him the same courtesy. “Amnesty for amnesty.”

 

“And hold your hand all the way back to my own base?” Darcy grins, and pointedly does not lower her gun. “Neither of us are in the position to be offering anything, let alone amnesty. You can offer a bullet to my brain, or a box they’re going to put me in, and I can offer you a bullet now, or a bullet later. What’s it gonna be?”

 

The Agent merely nods. “Smart,” he agrees. “I would have liked to play on your team, Lewis. But we don’t all have that luxury.” He shrugs and eases up out of the pilot's chair. Darcy lets him pass, on edge, and watches him pull on the pack.

 

“You manage to stay off SHIELD’s radar, find me when this blows over,” she tells him. “I’ll see if I have any luxury to spare.”

 

“Deal,” the Agent agrees. “You called it you know. Funding has been cut. SHIELD’s pulling from some pretty seedy sources right now.”

  
  
“Hate to break it to you, buddy,” Darcy informs him, slipping into the pilot's seat. “But it always has. What’s your name?”

 

“Agent Cooper,” he nods and lines himself up to the open side of the copter. “Good luck, Agent Lewis.”

 

“Same.” She throws him a mocking salute and raises a brow, and he jumps and he falls and Darcy does not look.

 

Flying a copter isn’t anything like flying a fucking jet and Darcy stares at the buttons in mild horror. She’s on auto-pilot now, but it will only do her so much good. There’s a center console, with a number pad in the center, and Darcy dials a number on a whim.

 

“ _Ms. Lewis_ ,” Jarvis’ voice comes in tinny through the abandoned headset, and Darcy rushes to get them on her head. Jarvis gave her the number himself, created it himself when she’d expressed...fear. So that she might always be able to reach him.

 

“Jarvis,” she breathes, struggling to hold back tears. “Jarvis---can you patch in? I need help flying this thing.”

 

“Darcy?” It isn’t Jarvis; it’s Clint. “Oh my God, Darcy! Where the fuck is you! Your chembox sent a signal hours ago, we’ve been trying to track you. We got these pictures, Darcy---Where’s Tony? Your phones---”

 

“They got him,” Darcy cracks, hysteria clutching at the edges of her vision. “SHIELD has Tony. They ambushed us. They took us separately. I don’t know where he is, Clint. I--- I’m in a helicopter and I---I shot someone, and the pilot jumped out. _I don’t know how to fly a helicopter.”_

 

“Babe,” Clint says, low and even, and his voice sounds weird through the headset, but it’s enough. “Hey, come on. You’re doing good. You got this far. Jarvis is trying to patch in now, okay. He’s going to help you. You’re alone?”

 

“Yes,” Darcy takes a deep breath. “Yes, I--- I picked the cuffs, dispatched the first agent, and let the other agent bail out. Am I somewhere over---maybe Indiana? Can Jarvis get my coordinates?”

 

_“Locking in now, Ms.Lewis.”_

 

“Director Crane,” Darcy tells Clint. “He’s on the op. Do you know him?”

 

“No,” Clint admits, baffled. “No, Darce’. I...What’s happening, here? Coulson, Fury, Tash and I all got that picture of you -- just after your chem signature activated.”

 

Darcy watches the gear shaft switch, and the lights play on the dash, as Jarvis reroute her. “I don’t know, Clint. They have Tony though. I have to get him back.”

 

“Team’s on it,” Clint promises. “We’ll do what we can. They’re probably watching the Tower.”

 

 _“Stark Tower will go on total lockdown after any twenty-four-hour absence of Mr. Stark,”_ Jarvis helpfully supplies. _“Might I suggest the Malibu House?”_

 

“I don’t have enough fuel to make it to the Malibu House,” Darcy hazards. She doesn’t actually know anything about fucking helicopters.

 

“We’re putting birds out as we speak,” Clint assures her. “Someone will pick you up air-side in a jet. Be ready in forty. Wanna walk me through everything that happened? Everything said?”

 

Darcy lets herself sink back in the seat. “Tony and I left the hotel at.....” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> moving it along, moving it along


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a vurrry short chapter, because I wasn't coming up with a better segue into the actual action of the rescue, which is next.

The mission, overall, is surprisingly simple. 

“Thor takes out every transistor in a six-mile radius,” Darcy explains, gesturing on the holograph of the city with her glass.  Ice tinkles, swimming in a shallow pool of whiskey, and Jarvis lights the transistors on the map. “Bucky - you and Clint take out the backup generators for both buildings. What are we looking at for prisoner lockdown for a security breach?” 

 

“Automated lockdown is three minutes, fifteen seconds after a security threat has been made,” Natasha explains, pulling what they think is the prisoner holding cells up on the map. “Manually, probably closer to ten minutes.  Longer, if the elevators are down.” 

 

“So like....a power outage,” Darcy hums and drums her nails on the table. “That considered a threat to security?” 

 

“Even if it’s not,” Bucky cuts in and shakes his head. “A power outage will cause a temporary external lock-down until threat levels were assessed. No one coming or going. And once they realize the generators are down? Full lockdown.” 

 

“It’s likely that at least one elevator has its own, secondary generator,” Coulson appears in the lab like the specter he is and takes Darcy’s glass forcefully from her hand.  He's been handling the new Agents, and though his expression shows nothing, Darcy knows it's tiring work. Whatever - it was her third, and nearly finished anyway. “On board, most likely. It won’t be dismantled from the outside.” 

 

“That doesn’t answer the question; how do we get in?”  Steve has an honest-to-god paper map spread out over the table, the red cap of a marker caught between his teeth, muffling is words. He spits it out and scowls. “This would have been easier if it had been the Water Treatment Plant. We could have followed the intake through the sewers.” 

 

“The lumber mill has a pretty big reserve pond,” Bucky notes, tapping the paper map. “Probably has an access pipe we could follow.” 

 

“But not into the building. Ponds too far east,” Clint argues, pulling up the sewer lines on the hologram. “Maybe the air vents? What? To cliche? But it could work. There are at least five minutes between the initial power outage before the backup generators even kick in. Call in a few flyers, Thor and Falcon maybe? Drop one or two on the roof between the break, while Bucky and I dismantle the generators. They could open the doors from the inside once Stark’s secure, for an evac. Natasha and----” 

 

“Tony’s underground,” Darcy cuts him off.  She knows without a doubt that they'll take him to the deepest, darkest, dankest hole they can find. Psychological Torture 101; Tony doesn't like being underground.  Also - as they are fucking discovering now - it's a lot harder to unkidnap someone from a basements basement.  “There are four stories above ground, and maybe four below - the two that came with the original building, and at least two SHIELD’s added.  Operating under the assumption he’s being held in one of the lowermost floors - and he is - we’d have to make it five or more floors through the vents. In what----ten minutes? Before they lock down the holding cells manually when the generators fail.” Making it infinitely harder to get Tony out.  

 

Clint makes a face - the kind you make when knocking back bottom shelf whiskey - and points at her. “I don't remember training you to be smarter than me.” 

 

“I did.” Natasha looms over the hologram, mouth pulled into a little moue that gave way nothing at all. “Even if we got an operative or two inside through such means, it isn’t enough of a team for an evac, and during an external lockdown - no ones opening any doors.”  She stares at Clint, blankfaced, daring him to argue. Darcy never did master that expressionless void. Everything she thought, burned brightly on her face. 

_ Burned _ . “Fire.” Darcy snaps her fingers. “A big enough fire in the building will automatically shut down all elevators and open all stairwell, emergency and external exits. So we...take out the transistors, leave the generators to power the evac alarms. Panicked people make their own distractions. That gives us the five minute gap to get Tony out of the holding cells. Can we do it?” 

 

“Still can’t get in,” Steve argues, but he turns to the hologram, and pulls up estimated evac routes. “How long would an evacuation take?” 

 

“After usual working hours - seven minutes per floor,” Bucky notes, from memory. “A majority of the lumber mill employees leave no later than eight, leaving SHIELD staff and any overnighters. We’d need to partially disengage the sprinkler systems to keep the fire burning long. Could be tricky.” 

 

“What about a chemical fire,” Bruce offers, quietly from his place beside Darcy. “Something water wouldn’t subdue.” 

 

And Darcy knows just the thing. “Jarvis - get Reed Richards on the line. I believe he owes me a few favors.” She stares into the holograph of the building. “Thor takes out the transistors. Bruce, Bucky and Steve take the military base unit. Smash and crash, make a big show of trying to get in. Clint and Natasha cover me for an evac. Coulson.” She looks at Phil. “This is the second direct attack on me personally. Where do you want to be?” 

 

“I’ll organize a team to collect Director Crane.” It’s a silent agreement, on his part. They’ve been playing the offensive line for too long. It’s time for something a little more direct.  Darcy's asking him to pull out of SHIELD completely - and abandon all who do not follow. It's hard, she knows. Coulson's life was and still is in many ways, intricately weaved into SHIELD and what it once stood for. It's time for him to choose.  “We need a base, Director Lewis. The tower is compromised.” 

 

“My uncle has a bunker,” Darcy admits this clenched teeth. Uncle Lou is----Uncle Lou could very well be dead right now, and Darcy has compartmentalized the fear and fury for that into a small, locked box. But Lou was a paranoid old fucker, who knew in his heart of hearts, a war was coming.  Darcy knows she’ll never get to tell him he was right, or thank him for all that he gave her. “Off the grid. Lower Michigan, near a hunting cabin deep in protected woods. I’ve been...” Funneling every dime she earned working for Stark Industries into stocking the thing. “Getting it ready.  Shuri sent T'Challa with a drop a few weeks ago. It's stocked.”

 

“Peter’s been making a lot of trips to Michigan,” Bruce notes, lightly and so Darcy knows she’s in trouble. “Darcy.” 

 

“He’s a smart kid, Doc.” In truth, Darcy’s little base of operations never would have been ready without his help. “I needed someone I could trust to install...you know. All the computer crap.  I sent a team with him. He was looking at schools that way anyway, and the work was part of a scholarship. Jarvis is locked in. No one can access it by anything but foot or off-road vehicle. Totally on the up and up. He was never in any danger.” 

 

Bruce frowns. “We’re always in danger, Darcy.” 

 

“I’ll send a team for prep,” Coulson, cuts off any more arguments between Darcy and Bruce. “Jarvis, if I could access the coordinates.” 

 

Steve clears his throat. “That still doesn’t answer how we’re getting in, Darce’.” 

 

There are a lot of ways they aren't getting in.  Not the air vents, or the sewers, or the windows, or the roof.   There's only one way to do it. Darcy leans back in her chair just far enough to grab her glass off the desk where Coulson left it. “I’ll take the front door.  SHIELD said my biggest asset was my ability to blend anywhere. Let’s find out how true that is.” 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GONNA GET US SOME TONY.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy.... Maybe kidnaps a baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I'd forget about the baby.

It’s universally decided that the mission will take place upon nightfall, darkness being optimal for chaos, and chaos being a nice little bonus for springing boyfriends from top-security facilities.  Darcy checks the time again, even as Steve tells everyone to lay low for the four hours of downtime they’re looking at. Rest up. Stock up. Whatever.

 

Four hours is plenty.

 

“I’ll be in Tony’s room,” she mutters, grabbing her glass off the table.  Bruce, of all people, had topped her off with another shot of Glenfield, and very little coke. It’s not surprising to  _her_ that Bruce is facilitating her borderline alcoholism, but she’d seen the looks. Bruce--- Bruce has always known Darcy had  _demons_. Even if she never could quite spill them all.  Some. Some of them, Bruce deserved to know. Now? Now it doesn’t matter who deserves what. Natasha uploaded Darcy’s stolen data with extreme impunity.  It’s all out there - spilled like red wine on a white linen - slowly spreading itself across the world, faster than Darcy and her merry band of varying technovants could decode.

 

Tony’s room is on the highest point of the Malibu House.  It’s Tony’s way - to keep himself above the rest. He doesn’t look down on people, not really. He just likes to keep an eye on everything he loves and Tony? Tony loves the whole entire world when all is said and done.  Darcy pokes around - curiosity is her nature, and her downfall all the same. There are pastel dresses in smart, neat styles hanging in the closet. Rows of matching pale heels. Peppers things. Tony doesn’t spend much time at the Malibu house anymore.  Darcy can’t imagine her ruby red, rhinestone hooker heels on the shelves here, catching the California sun. She’s dressed in her civies. The same jeans and t-shirt they’d taken her in. She hasn’t showered in days. She hasn’t brushed her hair. She still doesn’t have a fucking hair tie.  In her pocket is the capsule suit Shuri sent her, impact resistant and moderately bulletproof while capable of being packaged into a palm-sized compact. She has her knives, and her guns, and her boots. It’ll do.

 

His room overlooks the ocean and has its own elevator to the roof like Darcy expected.  Jarvis lets her in without question. Jarvis is --- Darcy knows better than maybe anyone that Jarvis is  _more_ than an AI.  Wildly more. She takes the elevator to the roof and follows the secondary elevator for roof access back down to the garages.  They’re built into the cliff-side, optimal for flight-ready suits.

 

“I need a jet. The Stiletto’s here, right?” She asks Jarvis, as she rounds the rows of vintage beauties and early mark suits.  Tony has three jets at the Malibu house. Jarvis leads her to the smallest - farthest down the line. A narrow, black arrow of a jet, built for two and designed for silence. Tony had favored them before the Suit.   Darcy’s read the manual for it, front to back, has no idea how to fly it, but is pretty sure she can wing it - plane puns notwithstanding. And for everything she can’t do - there’s Jarvis. “Do me a favor, Jay. Don’t let me die.”

 

“Mission Accepted, Director Lewis,” Jarvis replies, and the Stiletto’s cockpit opens with a hiss of mechanical engineering.  Darcy buckles in.

It takes an hour to fly to Oregon, and less than five minutes to break into the house. Darcy leaves the jet idling in the expansive yard to the side of the house, beside the pool, and out of sight from any windows.  She eyes the two story craftsman style home, done in tasteful shades of blue and off-white with picturesque flowers and charming wind chimes and wonders - well. She just wonders. About collateral damage, mostly. Tony hadn’t done shit to deserve being taken.

 

Neither does Olivia Fenton - but here Darcy is.  Eye for an eye and all that. Maybe the whole world's blind already.

 

There’s an open bedroom window on the second floor, cigarette butts dotting the roof below the flower box. Climbing up isn’t easy, exactly - she never did score much for the physicals - but she manages to scale the trellis and haul her sizable ass up onto the sun-scorched shingles.  She slides in carefully, pausing to listen to the house settle and still around her. Fenton’s downstairs, TV on quietly. Darcy hears the clank of metal and plastic - the washer or dryer probably. She pushes her way into the hallway, follows the eggshell white walls to the end room and finds exactly what she’s looking for.

 

It’s a girl - Darcy already knew that. Fenton has a file, and so does the baby sound asleep in in the crib before her.  Layla Fenton - six months old. Layla  _Crane_ , really. Darcy wonders if Director Crane loves his daughter. Hopes he does, as she turns the baby monitor off.  He loves Fenton - this Darcy doesn’t doubt. Loved her enough to good-bye her against a number of protocols - secret her off to this pretty seaside cottage. Deposit significant amounts of money into a fluff account.  He sends her flowers every Wednesday. He doesn’t date.

 

Something dark glints off the metallic stars hanging from the mobile, and Darcy sighs. “Like you wouldn’t do worse for Clint.”

 

“I’m not here to judge you,” Natasha says, equally quiet.  She comes to stand beside Darcy, fingers curling over the light wood of the railing. “All missions require two agents. You know better than this, Darcy.”

 

“I didn’t know how to ask someone to come kidnap a baby with me.” Didn’t know how to admit she was going to, herself. “Thanks for coming. Fenton’s combat trained.” Fenton had been a fairly remarkable Agent before she fell pregnant and was disappeared with great prejudice.

 

“Oh no,” Nat turns a smile on her, as she brushes a fingertip down the baby’s cheek. _“I’m_ here to kidnap the baby.  You have to deal with the mother. Your mission, your mouse. You have to take both”

 

Which - yeah.  Darcy should have expected as much.  She digs a gun from her boot. “She’s going to kick my ass.”

 

“Throw your punches higher, and remember to widen your stance. She had a knee injury a few years back - left side. Go for that.” Because theirs is a no-bullshit relationship. “Clint’s flying. You think a car seat will fit in the Quint jet?”

 

Darcy drops the clip from the gun and replaces it with tranq bullets. “I guess we’ll find out.”

 

Natasha secrets the baby out the window, even as it begins to cry, soft, confused little whimpers that make Darcy’s moral ambiguity waver just slightly.  She hustles down the stairs, sticking to the edges near the wall to avoid any squeaks. Fenton punches her in the fucking face on the very last one.

 

Darcy kicks her in the knee and makes a note to buy Natasha something expensive when all is over and done.  Fenton stumbles, throwing out an elbow too catch Darcy in the middle but Darcy’s ready this time. She catches it and twists her whole arm upward, sending her bowing backward, weight on her bad knee.  She takes Fenton down - doesn’t one hundred percent know how to follow up, but stomping on her hand proves sufficient enough. Fenton’s knees are bent wrong behind her, too twisted to push herself up on, so Darcy puts a foot on her belly and holds her very gently in place.

 

“You’re what---four months along?” She asks, conversationally, aiming her gun at Fenton’s throat. “Funny that.  Because I have been tracking Daniel Crane’s movement for a very long time, and he hasn’t been anywhere near you, Agent Fenton. Who's the dad?”

 

Fenton bares her teeth but looks away. “Where’s my baby?”

 

“I left her with a friend of mine,” Darcy pushes, a little, against her belly.  Not hard. “You in trouble, Olivia?”

 

Fenton doesn’t answer with anything but a question.  “How did you know I was pregnant?”

 

“I’ll tell you because I’m feeling very generous.” Also, it was really fucking clever, and Darcy maybe likes an audience for her occasional bouts of genius, thank you. Blame Tony, it’s a learned behavior. “But you’re going to answer my question too, or I’m going to tranq you in the fucking  _eyeball_ , and you’ll never find out where I’ve sent Layla. Understood?”  Fenton meets her eye and nods. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you too, Olivia. Your mail, your internet usage, credit cards, bank, all of it.  And see - you’re smart. You know how to take care of yourself. Your search history is tame and boring. Your bank account is all groceries and bills. You don’t pull cash - you let everything is tracked because - and I’m guessing here - Daddy Crane keeps a close eye; you can’t clear your cache or cookies without him asking what you’re hiding. But...I hacked your Amazon account.  Lots of leggings and Flintstone multivitamins. Peppermint tea. Nothing that _screamed_ pregnantly. All very covert. Because Crane would know. See - here’s the thing.  Nothing’s really  _safe_ on the internet. Everyone is watching - all the time. I bugged your ad-tracker and watched all the ads on your computer start suggesting maternity wear and homeopathic remedies for morning sickness. And I knew, right then and there - that it wasn’t Cranes. Because why would you hide it?”  See? Fucking clever. Darcy bugged a fucking bug. Tony would be impressed. Bracing her weight on her extended leg instead of Fenton, Darcy leans down at the waist. “I’m going to ask you one more time, Agent Fenton. Are you in trouble?” 

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

“You do as I say,” Darcy warns her, even as she moves her foot, but holds her gun. “Do as I say - and I’ll get you out.  Fuck with me - and I’ll drop you off on Crane’s doorstep just in time to deliver a baby that isn’t his, do you understand?”

 

“You can really get me out?” Hope is a shade of grey Darcy has never really understood, but she sees it on Agent Fenton's face, as she pushes to her feet. “How?”  

 

“S.H.I.E.L.D. isn’t real,” Darcy shrugs, moving to the back of Fenton and herding her towards the door. She doesn’t trust her - not exactly. “They’re like the boogie man. It’s fear - everyone’s afraid of them.  But I’m not. And the second you stop believing in monsters under the bed is the second they start to lose power.” The quintjet is hovering beside the Stiletto to the side of the house, and Clint gives her the signal that all systems are ago. “Your baby is in that jet,” Darcy explains, snagging a hair tie off the kitchen counter as she steps out behind her.  _Score_. “Natasha will have collected anything you need for the kid.  We’re taking the other. So don’t try anything funny, yeah?”

 

Fenton turns to her, but at a distance. “You weren’t this good in your classes.”

 

Darcy snorts. “I’m a really, really good liar,” she says, with ironic honesty.  

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> like I'd forget the baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people were a little confused about things so I wrote this chapter to confuse you more.

Darcy zip tied Felicia to the plane, hands raised but apart, and feet together - like a casual crucifixion.  She buckled her in too, reaching across to adjust the harness, and securing it across her chest. 

 

“What if we have to bail out of the plane?” Felicia tested the grip of the zip ties over her head - too much give. Darcy reached up and pulled them more tightly closed without a word. “Lewis---what if we have to bail?” 

 

Well.  The zip ties were a high-tensile vibranium weave strong enough to hold a tank off a cliff and would break for nothing if you didn’t have the correct solvent. And the seats? The seats had automatic eject buttons strong enough to tear her hands and feet off.  _ Technically _ , she wouldn’t need her hands after that. The parachute deployed automatically based on air pressure, so she could bleed out slowly on the way down before impact or rescue became an issue. Not reassuring, and a bit wordy to explain. “You die, and the Black Widow raises your baby.” Or more likely Clint.  But that wasn’t all that reassuring either. 

 

Felicia stared at her, brown eyes wide and mouth agape. “You’re fucking crazy.” 

 

“Maybe,” Darcy agreed, because she  _ felt  _ crazy. It wasn’t a new feeling. It had settled in her gut when she’d tazed what she  _ thought  _ was a homeless person, many moons ago under a midnight sky in New Mexico.  She felt unhinged, and terrified by her own determination to get Tony back.  And get back at SHIELD. “Or maybe I just don’t give a flying fuck about you. You’re just an eye for an eye, Agent.  Crane stole mine - and I stole his. I’d rather see the whole world blind than not get Tony back. You don’t deserve this. Neither does he. But you know what?” Darcy leaned down to look her in the eye, drawing a fingertip down her bare forearm very gently.”  “That’s the bed you made, when you fell in it with James Crane. This is his playground, and your his toy.” When Felicia opened her mouth, Darcy dug a gag out from under the seat. It’s a chest strap for the harness, a spare, but it fit around her head regardless. “You’re nothing to me.  And your boyfriend stole the only moral compass I’ve ever bothered to follow. If you don’t like the game, babe...well. I didn’t teach myself to play.” She pat Felicia on the leg. “SHIELD taught me everything I know.”

 

Well. Maybe not  _ everything _ . 

 

But the thing is -  The thing is----

 

SHIELD had to learn to fight dirty to take down HYDRA, and in doing so, let itself become Hydra.  Darcy ---- Darcy and HUSBAND... Her baby - her response to SHIELD and their bullshit.  Her organization, her attempt to fight back....Homeland United Security Base And National Defense... they have to do the same. But you know --- without succumbing to the clutches of evil megalomania.  HUSBAND was meant to be a wide network of married entities all working for information transparency.  Unity! Unity, goddamn it.   Unity over dominance.  No one ring to rule them all. 

 

It’s hard.  Darcy’s no Captain America.  She likes justice - but she maybe likes  _ petty  _ justice most.  But hey - that’s why balance is important.   A single cause is all well and good - but there’s an advantage to accepting various opinions on how to reach your goal.  And that’s where balance plays its part. Natasha and Clint. Steve and Bucky. Phil and Nick. 

 

Darcy and Tony. 

 

***

 

Strapping herself into the pilot seat, Darcy flicked the key to engage Jarvis’ system. “Gimme the Birdman, Jay.” 

 

“Communications are online, Director Lewis.” Jarvis cool, muted voice blended seamlessly with the hum of the engine. “ Connecting to Airlight Alpha Alpha Red Eye.  _ Hawkeye _ .” 

 

She tapped the central panel again, activating the onboard comm. “What’s the word, tweety bird?” 

 

_ “Stop calling me that,”  _ Clint’s voice vibrated over the line, filling the cockpit.  _ “Wheels up in two. Your monologue took forever, kid.  Nat’s laying a trap set.”  _

 

“Yeah, but it sounded cool, right?” The Stiletto came to life around her. “What kind of bombs is she packing?” 

 

_ “Couple of lightweight delay detonators. Remote start too, if we need to light it up early.”  _

 

“Won’t be necessary but I appreciate the attention to detail.” Behind her, Felicia made a noise around her gag. “Momma Crane ’s cutting a deal. She wants out, so she’s going to comply. And if she doesn’t. Well; we have her baby, so I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” 

 

_ “Collateral against your collateral.” _ Clint sounded impressed.  _ “That’s straight out of Fury’s playbook.”   _ There’s a pause on the com. _ “Uh - How are we telling Cap?”  _

 

“I mean---I just figured we wouldn’t. Like, forever. Or until it can be told at family events as some sort of crazy hilarious hijinks  _ Oh, Darcy  _ style. ” 

 

_ “This gonna be your Budapest?”  _

 

Darcy loved the Budapest story.  “Might do.” 

 

_ *** _

 

They left Felicia and the kid at the Malibu house with Agent Coulson and a gang of baby Agents.  “Tony has a conference room upstairs,” Darcy tipped her head toward the staircase. “Keep the holovid line open and I’ll patch you in if I need too. Jarvis hooked me up with some of Tony’s 360 dense image holographic, so it’ll almost look like she’s really there.” Turning to Felicia, properly handcuffed now, Darcy looked her in the eye. “Make it good. Make Crane believe it.  Give me agony. Give me ugly crying. Give me believable terror.” 

 

“Give me my baby.” 

 

Darcy shrugged. The baby was fine, fed and cleaned and napping in the next room over.  Darcy wasn’t a fucking monster. Natasha had the sense to grab a respectable baby bag before tucking out with the thing. “You first, sweetheart.” 

 

“Where’s your gear?” Steve asked as she stepped into the main floor lobby, already zipped into his spangled suit. Behind him, Bucky was strapped into his tac vest, and armor, mouthpiece hanging around his neck, looking terribly deadly, and deadly  _ hot _ . Ugh.  “You’re not dressed.” 

 

“I’ll kit up on the jet.” Darcy tipped her head toward the roof access elevators. “Roll out! Thundercats Ho!”

 

“Darcy there’s no room----” 

 

_ *** _

 

_ There’s no room on the jet to change _ . That’s what Steve was trying to say.  No matter what anyone said, you couldn’t actually fight fire with fire, and they couldn’t fly in with SHIELD’s stolen tech.  Instead, they’re flying a Stark prototype, and one not fit for a team their size. Bench seating along the walls of the jet, and a path not two feet wide between - it’s small.  Tall enough for  _ Darcy  _ to stand, but Steve and Bucky are already seated, with Bruce looking oddly waif-like between them.  Natasha had nabbed the pilot's chair, already buckled in and prepared for take-off, and Clint --- Clint was grinning up at Darcy from the other bench, smug and challenging. 

 

Well --- Darcy did like a challenge. 

 

Turning her back to him - because if he was gonna be a dick about it, he didn’t deserve a face full of her tits - she peeled her shirt up over her head. 

 

“Jeeze, Darce’. Give us some warning!”  Steve turned instantly and brilliantly red, before tipping his head backward to stare at the ceiling.  Bruce had looked down, into his lap, but Darcy could see the little curl of a mile at the corner of his mouth.  

 

She threw her boot up between his legs, catching the heel on the ridge of the bench and pressing the toe very gently against him. “Be a dear, and get that for me?” 

 

He gripped her ankle for one long moment, before moving to untangle her mess of laces.  She reached up behind her to unhook her bra, letting it slip over her shoulders one after another.  Bruce pulled off her boot and sock, and held his hand out for her other foot. Darcy let him have it and ran her fingers through his hair - pulling once, for good measure and fond memories.

 

“Jesus Buck -  _ give her some privacy _ ,” Steve hissed, eyeing Bucky over Bruce’s bent head.  “Look somewhere else. Literally anywhere else.” 

 

“I....don’t think I can?” Bucky narrowed his eyes at Darcy like he didn’t have flawless vision. “Yeah - I don’t think I can. Damn. Christ. Sorry---sorry.” 

 

Darcy snorted and settled her foot back on the ground when Bruce was done. “At ease, 

Cap,” she huffed.  She shimmied out of her jeans and panties all at once. “I’ve literally had sex with everyone on this plane.” 

 

“Um.”  Bucky was still staring at her tits. “We haven’t had sex.” 

 

“Yet.” Darcy bent down - ass in Clint’s face - to push the rest of her tangled jeans off her ankles. Her panties were----in Tony’s pocket, probably, from that last quickie at the hotel. She tossed them at Steve, just to see him catch them on reflex. “If we don’t die - come to talk to me.” 

 

“I don’t understand - isn’t this a mission to rescue your boyfriend?” He’d managed to pull his eyes away from her tits long enough to form the question. “Right? You and Stark are steady. You stole that baby for him.” 

 

Steve gave up his steadfast staring at the ceiling and  _ goggled  _ at her.  Eyes all but popping from his skull. “ _ You stole a baby? _ ” 

 

“Commandeered! I commandeered a baby. I have every intention of giving it back.”  Like Darcy wanted to keep a fucking baby. No. “This is not a conversation for now. This is a conversation for later.” 

 

“Darcy.” 

 

“It’s a SHIELD baby and the mom wanted out - so technically it was a rescue mission because I commandeered her too.” She put her hand on her hip and stared down at him - bare ass naked and not afraid to use the advantage. “If I manipulated her desire to be free of SHIELD, well - it benefits all parties, so what’s the problem? It’s literally win-win.” 

 

Steve looked at her face - Daddy Justice through and through. “You remind me so much of Peggy sometimes.” It----it wasn’t what she expected to hear. Not at all. Not in a million years, coming from Steve. Darcy didn’t really know what to do with the words. “She’d have really liked you.” 

 

****

 

The capsule suit Shuri sent was unlike anything Darcy had worn before.  A prototype, she’d explained. A new fiber blend she’d been playing around with. Darcy's had liquid suits before - SHIELD was grossly fond of them for female agents, and while Darcy wouldn’t argue that they really did offer a weird amount of support - it was still skeevy as fuck to send the gals out all but naked and give the boys tac vests.   Shuri’s suit though - it wasn’t like the liquid suits. She held the capsule in her hand, an egg-shaped black pill made of soft, giving material. Shuri had told her how to activate it, had told her to make sure she was naked when she did because the new synthetic didn’t adhere well to most fabric and loose holds significantly reduced effectiveness. 

 

She cracked the capsule over her left clavicle against the side of her throat, just below her ear like Shur had instructed.  It burst, and melted, spreading like oil over her flesh. It was nothing like latex, nothing at all like the polyvinyl bulletproof blend.  It unfolded in microparticles over her body, light as her own skin but somehow more significant. “Damn that’s cool.” It didn’t feel like anything, but at the same time---it felt secure. Like it was moving with her.

 

“Interesting,” Nat hummed, dragging her arm over the line between the suit and Darcy’s bared skin. “Wakanda?” 

 

“Shuri Special.” Darcy lifted her foot as the nanoweave spread across her sole.  “It’s impact resistant and will significantly slow any bullets. Fireproof too. Plus I look hot, right?” 

 

“No point in the boots,” Bucky pointed out, even as Darcy crammed her feet back into them. 

 

“Excuse you,” she argued, leaning down to re-tie them.  The suit moved with her body, offering zero tension or pull. “They look badass and help me kick things, thanks. Plus I can put my knives in there. Clint, give me knives.” Dutifully, Clint held out two knives, which Darcy deposited into her left boot. “You got my belt?” 

 

“Sure do.”  He held up her belt - a gift from him forever ago, and motioned for her to step closer, so he could hook it around her hips.  Darcy palmed the back of his neck and pushed herself father into the v of his legs until he rested his head against her chest, both hands still on her hips. “You got this, kiddo,” he told her, looking up with a little grin. “This is your Budapest.” 

 

“I am...so confused,” Bucky muttered behind her and Darcy disentangled herself from Clint just in time to see him making eyebrows at Steve. “Big Green.  Barton. Stark? Didn’t you two...” 

 

“Sure did,” Darcy cut in, throwing a wink Steve’s way even as she threw herself down onto the bench beside Clint. “I’m the best team exercise you’ll ever do, Sarge.” 

 

“You are that,” Clint snorted, throwing an arm over her shoulder.  He wrapped a loose, broken curl around his finger. “Got us all coming together and shit.” 

 

“Now  _ there’s  _ a thought,” Darcy sighed wistfully, as she swatted his hand away to pull her hair up. She picked the hair tie she’d stolen from Felicia’s kitchen up from the bench and stretched it to accommodate her mess of hair, pulling it all into a messy bun. “Tony’s the love of my life,” Darcy added, for Bucky’s benefit. “Don’t get me wrong. I love the rest of these fucks too, but I wouldn’t steal a baby for Clint.  Maybe a toddler. Something pre-K.” 

 

Clint beamed and bumped their shoulders. “Aww, Darcy. That’s so sweet.” 

 

“And I already stole a teenager for Bruce.”  Darcy stretched her leg out to kick Bruce in the knee. “How’s that going, B?” 

 

“He’s---a very good assistant.  Nothing more!” But Bruce was smiling. Even if it was never anything else - Peter had been good for Bruce.  That was enough for Darcy. 

 

“Yeah, yeah. Let him cook a little bit, he’s not seasoned yet,”  Darcy assured him. Peter’s biggest downfall was being young, but such things (If one were lucky enough) sorted themselves out with nothing more than time.

“And I guess you stole a  nonagenarian for me,” Steve cut in, nudging his knee against Buckys. “We’re real fond of you too, Darce’.” 

 

Darcy let her gaze float between Steve and Bucky and wondered how fond they were of  _ each other. _  She swiveled in her seat. “Clint. I know what I want for Christmas.” 

 

“I’m not facilitating that.” Clint held her gaze. “Nuh-uh. No! I went with the weird five-way with---” 

 

“It wasn’t a five-way - it was a three-way and then us on the other end of the couch.” 

 

“No - you and the blonde!” 

 

“The brunette, but----” 

 

“Then it’s a five-way!”

 

“No - it was a----I don’t know. It was just a three-way, me and the brunette, and then me and you - separately but on the same couch. Clint. Clint. Clint. Cliiiiiint.” 

 

Clint’s gaze didn’t waver. “No. Nyet. Nein.” Darcy watched something shift in his expression, a little smirk curling on his pink mouth. “Although...You wanna see how two sharpshooters hit a target at the same time- I could get behind you on that.” 

 

Darcy couldn’t derail that train of thought quick enough.  Bucky and Barton. Damn. “Don’t distract me. Although, yes, that too----” 

 

“What are they talking about,” Bucky asked Steve, from their bench. “Do you know what they’re talking about?” 

 

“A reason to make it out of this mission with all parts intact,” Steve told him, a little dryly. “And what we’re getting Darcy for Christmas.” 

 

Darcy whipped around and stared him in the face. “You shittin’ me, Cap?” 

 

Steve - Paragon of Justice and America and Apple Pie - shrugged his broad shoulders. “Might be a first for you, but it’s nothing new from my side of the bench.” 

 

“That’s a very ambiguous statement, Captain Spanky, I’m gonna need more to go on.  Do you mean y'all have shared or----” 

 

“Darcy!” 

 

“Captain Spanky?”  Bucky looked between Darcy and Steve twice, before settling on Darcy.  They weren’t fucking - Darcy could tell from that furrowed brow alone. Bummer. 

 

She shrugged. “Captain Hair Pully’s too long.” 

 

Bucky leaned back in his seat, while Steve hunched forward to make himself look smaller on his own. “Take off,” Steve managed to get out. “What the hell is taking so long to take off?” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> AND! Let me know any questions Old Dogs left you with, and I'll see if I can work answers into New Tricks.


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